Harry Potter & Hell\'s Assassin

Strangely enough, the first thing Harry noticed upon waking was that he was not cold. He didn’t think there was anything cold in this world except for the river. His eyes were shut but he closed them tighter. Wherever he was it was stale and dry. When he inhaled, dust tickled his nose and made his lungs burn. He felt loose dirt beneath him, like sand. He forced his eyes open and looked around.

He didn’t know where he was, but he definitely wasn’t in the forest anymore. The sound of the river was gone, the silence surrounding him. God, how he hated this silence! He longed to be in the bustling corridors of Hogwarts once more, to hear the shouts of the excited first years, the booming voice of Hagrid. He’d even take Snape’s cutting tongue and insults just to hear the sound of his voice.

He clenched his hands around fistfuls of dirt as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Sand fell from his hair and his clothes and…

Harry blinked. What the hell had happened to his clothes?!

He pushed himself up a little to quickly into a standing position and the cell he was in tilted and wavered dangerously before his eyes.

‘Cell?’

With a groan, Harry grasped his spinning head in his hands and leant against the nearest wall. He took several deep, slow breaths to calm his beating heart and clear his mind before he looked up once again.

He was indeed in a cell. It was small, its walls constructed out of large stone blocks that cast a washed out, grey color. The ground on which he stood was the same grey, dull earth that had been beneath his feet for the last three days as he walked through the woods. Only this was extremely fine, like the sand you might find on the tropic beaches, just the wrong color.

Turning around, Harry was surprised to note a small window at eye level. It was barely a sliver of a gap, cut horizontally in the stone. But it was enough for Harry to see out of clearly.

He gazed out from within the heart of a great and sprawling fortress. It sat atop a plateau that fell hundreds of feet from a huge mountainside. Silhouetted against the empty horizon, black and stark within a swirling mix of grey mist and low hung steam clouds, the fortresses towers and parapets jutted sharp and hard edged from the molted rock. Down further, when he stood on his toes, Harry could see the ground, were there was a rough path, worn down with use, in the earth; it lead away from a courtyard, a rough stone enclosure that surrounded the base of a large tower. There was a wagon riding hard from it’s gates. Dust billowed up behind it in great black clouds, obscuring the driver and whatever beasts were pulling it.

Harry turned from the window in irritation. Wherever this was, it was a long way from where he had last been conscious. There was no sign of the forest he had been in. It had stretched for miles and miles. Whoever had taken him had traveled a great distance to get him here and he contemplated what that might mean.

And then there was the matter of his clothes and the fact that they had drastically changed. He was dressed mostly in black. The only thing he still possessed that belonged to him were his leather boots, a gift from Sirius, but his pants were now snug fitting and black, made from some kind of materiel he didn’t recognize but could be compared to leather. They looked old and worn and he suspected that they had been in use before they were given to him. His boots had been put on over his pants and, over the boots, were leg wraps that went around his foot and the lower part of his leg. They were also black and he wondered if a color besides it and grey existed in this world. He wore a tunic of the same color, the material was light and thin and much cooler than his pants. A wide, brown leather belt was wrapped around his waist to hold the wrapped shirt in place. On his writs, and over the sleeves of the tunic, were black leather arm guards, tied up on the underside of his wrist like a mini corset of crisscrossed strings.

He tried not to think that these clothes were nicer than the ones he had had on before this and instead focused on his anger. He was tired of falling unconscious ever few days and waking up in some strange place. He wanted to shout and curse and scream. Suddenly, he wanted to see the face of whoever had brought him here. He wanted to know what they wanted from him.

“HEY!” he yelled, striding the few feet from the wall to the bars. His voice was not as loud as he intended. It was raspy and dry.

He cleared his throat and tried again, gripping the bars of his cell.

“HEY! WHOEVER THE HELL BROUGHT ME HERE, I WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE!”

There was no sound in the hallway beyond his prison. He couldn’t see much, even with his face pressed sideways against the thick iron bars.

“COME ON!” he roared one last time; a desperate plea. He didn’t care if it was some horrible monster that came. He just wanted to see something else move and breathe. So many things had happened to him, been done to him, in this world and he had not ever seen the beings that had done it to him.

Well, except the cat thing.

He shuddered at the memory and gave up on yelling and shouting. His hands slipped from the dusty bars and he turned his back on them and went to the window.

Nothing had changed, of course. It never would. The sky and the earth would stay the same forever in this horrid place.

* * * * *

“Come on, Ron. We have to go.”

Ron blinked, his eyes closing for a bit longer than they should have. Even Hermione’s voice was different now. Harry’s disappearance had changed so much between them; and about them. He had always known, somewhere in his heart, that this would have to happen one day. That one of them was going to have something bad happen. And he had always assumed it would have been Harry. Poor kid always had trouble hunting him. He had expected it. They both had, him and Hermione.

He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

They were sixteen years old.

He didn’t feel that young right now. He felt tired and drained. He felt hopeless. How were they ever going to fight in this war without their friend? How would they survive when Harry had not? It wasn’t that he didn’t think they were strong enough, he knew they were. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to try anymore.

He was falling into depression. On some level, he knew that. Hermione had tried to tell him several times that she could see it happening. She said he had to fight back. She said he had to keep going in Harry’s honor. The fact that she spoke of their best friend as if he were deceased did not help him any.

Why should he be strong when no one else was? Sirius was falling apart before their eyes, having given up long ago, and Remus was hurting because of it. Most of the Order, after three weeks, had become halfhearted in their research. Hermione seemed to have decided that their friend was not coming back and was already taking steps to deal with her emotions. His parents, well, sometimes he couldn’t really tell what they were thinking. His mum was a mess, of course. She had thought of Harry as her son as much as her children thought him a brother. His father had always been an optimistic person, but even his words of encouragement, which Ron heard less and less as the days passed, lacked conviction and sincerity.

A darkness had consumed those within the House of Black. The depression was an infestation. A contagious disease that was infecting their hearts. Even those who did not know Harry well were being affected. Ron could see it in subtle ways. People slouched a little more when they walked through the halls. Smiles were becoming scarce, even at the dinner table with his mum’s wonderful food. Conversations were absent, people spoke only when they had possible news to share about new discoveries found within the confines of the library.

And now school was about to begin. Ron didn’t know how he was going to survive. Who was he going to talk to during History of Magic when Binns got too boring? What person was going to have as much fun making up death predictions for Trelawney as he and Harry did? Who was going to take on Malfoy with him? He had been excited to celebrate their Potion-less, Snape-free year with his best friend.

Hermione was pulling on his arm now, her small hand clamped about his wrist.

Everyone’s trunks had been put into taxies and, for the first time in a while, the house was absent any order members. The only ones there were The Weasley Family, Hermione, Remus and Sirius. Mad Eye Moody, Tonks and Kingsley were all outside; one Auror for each car.

Hermione had dragged him to the kitchen where his family was located, saying their goodbyes. Molly and Arthur were hugging their only girl. Ginny was crying silently, her eyes closed against her mother’s shoulder. Molly was running a hand slowly through her daughter’s hair, her other arm around her baby. Arthur had his arms about both Molly and his little girl, his hands running up and down their backs in a gesture of comfort.

Fred and George were talking to Sirius and Remus. The twins said something to the men, probably words of solace, slapped their fellow order members on the shoulder and went over to join their parents and their sister.

Ron felt his feet carrying him over to where Remus and Sirius were still standing. The latter of the two was leaning against the counter, both his hands behind him resting on its top, as if the man could not stand without its support. One look at Sirius found Ron thinking that he probably couldn’t.

He stopped before the two friends. He was as tall as them now and he looked them both in the eyes. He had heard, in times like this, that sometimes people would come up with words of comfort. Grand speeches would just drift into their head and make everyone feel better. This did not happen for him and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before giving up.

“I don’t know what to say…” he admitted. He hadn’t been speaking much lately, except to Hermione, and his voice was hoarse from lack of use.

He looked down at the dirty floor and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t think there is anything that can be said.”

It was Sirius that had spoken and Ron looked up in surprise. He hadn’t heard the man speak in nearly two weeks. No one had. And Ron hadn’t really taken a good look at the man. He looked the worse of all of them. His hair was greasy, his eyes sunken and bloodshot from lack of sleep. The skin of his face was pale and unshaven.

Ron felt a tremendous feeling of pity explode in his chest for the man in front of him. He had lost everything. First, his friends had been killed, betrayed by someone he had trusted with his life and theirs. Then twelve years he spent being forced to relive his worst nightmares. Now he had lost his godson…

Suddenly Ron had to work hard at getting air into his lungs. His throat felt tight and itchy and he rubbed it absently.

He could see Harry’s face clearly in his mind’s eye and the feeling of loss he had felt throughout the last few weeks abruptly exploded into a ball of emotional agony, and he realized: He would not see Harry at King’s Cross in an hour. He wouldn’t play Exploding Snap with him on the train ride. He would never eat a meal in the Great Hall with him again, or play a game of Quidditch with him. The bed across from his in the boys dormitory would remain empty for the remainder of his time at Hogwarts. He would have to practice apparition training by himself when the time came. He wouldn’t be able to buy his friend those Quidditch gloves he had found for Christmas…

Suddenly Ron’s throat seemed to close the rest of the way. His head felt light and his vision blurred as he collapsed against the wall behind him. He struggled to draw breath into his burning lungs and his chest hurt horribly as it heaved.

He heard people speaking around him. They were calling his name. Hands were shaking him and rubbing his arms. He tried hard to listen to what the brown blur in front of him was saying.

“…have to breathe, Ron. Come…”

“…Ron? Ron!…”

“…it’s alright lil’ bro…”

“Ron!”

“Mum, calm down.”

All the voices speaking together didn’t make any sense. He opened his heavy eyes and focused as best he could on the mop of bushy brown hair before him.

“Breath with me, Ron. Inhale…”

She was drawing air through he nose slowly and Ron attempted to follow her example, but his heart was beating too fast and his lungs longed for more air.

“No!” the brown blob said, “You’re hyperventilating, now listen to me. It doesn’t matter if it burns, inhale.”

She breathed in slowly through her nose again and this time Ron doubled his efforts. He managed it, but grimaced in pain and rubbed his chest. She was exhaling now, slow and controlled, and Ron followed her example. He found it much easier this time to inhale, and did so deeply, the burn in his lungs receding and his heart rate slowing.

Finally, his vision cleared and his head felt its normal weight again. He opened his eyes, trying to figure out when he had closed them and found his whole family, plus Sirius and Remus staring at him in concern. He was propped up against the wall, sitting on the floor. Hermione sat, cross-legged in front of him. She was holding his hands tightly. He looked closer at her face and noticed her eyes were slightly red and she had shinny, wet trails down her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He nodded slowly and blinked, feeling dampness under his eye lashes. He let go of one of Hermione’s hands and wiped his face, feeling confused as he looked at his wet fingertips. He looked back up at Hermione and frowned when he saw a watery smile on her face.

“Why are you smiling?”

The girl just shook her head and launched herself into his arms, squeezing with all her might. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her back, pressing his face into her shoulder.

“We’ll be ok.” She whispered. Her voice shook.

Not trusting himself to speak, Ron nodded and the two friends pulled away from each other to stand. Looking around, he discovered many faces with tear tracks. Ginny was still crying and he opened his arms to his little sister and she threw herself into them.

“This is going to be really hard, isn’t it?” She said. It wasn’t really a question and no one said anything.

“We’ll be ok.” Ron whispered, repeating Hermione’s words.

He didn’t doubt that they would be ok…eventually. He knew it was going to take a long time to get there because he couldn’t help thinking that, wherever Harry was, he was not going to be ok.

* * * * *

Sometime later, for he could not tell by the lack of sun, Harry encountered the first intelligent creature from this world.

He was vaguely reminded of a house elf, though the eyes of this creature were nowhere near as kind and innocent as Dobby’s. They were still large, but they gleamed with a menacing sort of intelligence. A creature that was clever and knew it.

He had approached Harry’s cell cautiously. One hand on a nasty looking dagger at his side. He had a flat, emotionless face and a mouth that was nothing more than a thin opening at the bottom of his face. He didn’t even really have any lips. It’s nose was small, almost as flat as his face, and stuck out like a pigs. A few, long, greasy hairs on top of its head were pulled back in a pony tail that was almost resting vertical upon its skull. The creature was fitted with ragged brown hunting gear with several weapons strapped to various parts of his body and may have looked frightening if he hadn’t been about three feet tall.

The thing approached the bars of his cell and stared at him intently. Harry stared right back. He was sitting with his back against the wall directly across from where the thing stood. He wasn’t about to move either.

“What is your name, human?”

Harry pulled a face at the sound of its voice. It was rough and loose, like his voice box was hindered by phlegm.

“What does that matter?” he snapped. Probably not the best answer to give the thing, but the creature’s face remained impassive.

“Answer the question, human.”

“Well, my name certainly isn’t ’human’, that’s for sure.” He paused and then said reluctantly, “Harry.”

The creature nodded once. “My name is Ukimu Noul. You will address me as master.”

Harry blinked. He wasn’t entirely sure he had heard right and stared in disbelief. “Excuse me?” he growled, his eyes narrowing.

The creature stared at him a moment longer and then, without taking his eyes off Harry, snapped his bony, clawed fingers once.

Four other beings of his kind came from down the hall. Without hesitating, they opened the door to his cell and were on him by the time he got to his feet. Two held each of his arms and the other two had him about the waist. They were surprisingly strong.

“Do not struggle, human.”

Harry glowered at the small creature. “Shut it, you little midget!”

Something resembling annoyance flashed through those big round eyes, the closest thing he had seen to emotional life.

Ukimu Noul reached into his pocket and Harry braced himself for an attack. But he didn’t pull out a knife. It was a thin strip of leather he held in his hand. Silver strands were woven into the band, making delicate designs that glittered even in the dimness of the cell.

Ukimu walked up to Harry and reached up towards his neck. At the last second, he realized just what it was the little creature had. They were trying to put a collar on him. He threw himself backwards and into the stone wall, taking the little minions with him and catching them by surprise. Knives were drawn by the four he had thrown to the ground, but Ukimu just looked on placidly, the collar held loosely at his side.

Harry had his back against the wall so that he could see all four of the little monsters. He crouched down slightly and braced himself, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

At least he was not totally defenseless. Sirius and Remus had taught him some very basic hand to hand combat skills. He was not so foolish to think he could escape this situation with the meager skills he possessed but at least he could put up a bit of a fight. Of course they did have knives…

The one farthest to his left lunged first, his blade held before him like a spear. Harry swung his left leg up and around in an arc and slammed his boot-clad foot into the side of it’s head, sending the little creature’s face smashing right into the wall.

The one in front of him jumped forward and Harry grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the knife, yanking it forward, twisting his body away from the blade and shoving the thing into the wall like its friend.

He now held a dagger in his trembling right hand, he didn’t take much time to admire it as the remaining two creatures threw themselves at him with vicious snarls. He drove the knife hilt deep into the stomach of the one on his right and felt warm blood gush over his hand as the expected blow to the back of his head landed hard and sent him spiraling into darkness.